


hidden in plain sight

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: A masquerade ball. Geralt is there for business among…otherunexpected things.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 249





	hidden in plain sight

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin
> 
> inspired by this tweet:  
> https://twitter.com/BERGARAOFRIVIA/status/1246634471677464577

Geralt walked through the doors, the dark cloak that Yennefer had given him hung from his shoulders, the gold swirls catching in the candlelight as he walked past the guests gathered at the entrance and into the ballroom.

He adjusted the mask, dark and lacy, on his face without even realizing it.

The material was rough against his skin and compromised his vision; he hated it, but if he wanted a chance of blending in with the other guests—all in masks—he had to wear it.

Geralt didn’t mind too much. If he got his way he’d be leaving in five minutes tops. He just had to find Yennefer’s contact—a man who supposedly had information on the vampire he’d been hunting for weeks, jumping from city to city and terrorizing the residents—and he’d be out of here.

He hadn’t been pleased when the man had suggested they meet at the city’s masquerade ball hat night, but he understood the reasoning: the man wanted to protect his identify.

They had both discussed what the other would be wearing, an explanation for the heavy black cloak hanging from his shoulders, adorned with striking gold embellishments. Yennefer always had been one for extravagant clothing.

Like Jaskier, his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Geralt frowned as he pushed through the crowd. He hadn’t thought of him in—okay, well, he had thought of him just a couple days ago if he were being honest.

But he hadn’t seen him in months. Not since the incident on the mountain and they had parted ways.

All for the better, he had thought bitterly. If Jaskier was gone, he’d be safer—happier.

Geralt’s life was one of ruin and heartache and death; Jaskier deserved better than that. Yennefer had even agreed, though she had paused and said, “but are you sure this is what you want to do?” when he had proclaimed that he would not go searching for him.

He had nodded curtly and she had never mentioned it again.

As for them…

Well, they were friends now. The incident on the mountain might’ve broken them for a bit, and they’d likely never be lovers again, but they were growing closer, day by day, and Geralt found that he preferred her as a friend. There were less misunderstandings that way, no longing and heartbreak. She, too, deserved better.

Geralt approached the refreshments, one table of many, and shook his head sharply.

Focus, he thought as he reached for a glass, filling it with punch. One sip and he arched an eyebrow; the stuff was strong.

Geralt sulked away to a corner, sipping his drink, and searched for the telltale sign of Yennefer’s contact: he said he would be wearing blue and red.

Eventually Geralt started to doubt he’d be coming; it’d been thirty minutes, almost forty, and no sign of him. Downing the rest of his drink, he headed for the exit when suddenly the music changed drastically, slowing down.

He was blocked from the exit by a sea of squirming, dancing bodies. Geralt breathed out, hard, through his nose and went to push them out of the way.

But then—he heard footsteps. He had heard them all night, not unusual for him, but there was something different about these ones, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Geralt turned, eyes darting around the room until they landed on a staircase near the back of the ballroom. A man was descending the stairs with two women, talking animatedly with them.

He wore all black except for his coat that reached low, nearly his ankles, embroidered with gold swirls that sparkled as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

Both of the women smiled at him, also masked, before they parted ways, holding hands.

As he walked closer, strolling with confidence, Geralt noticed the gold straps holding the coat together and the mask he wore—black with a gold trimming. His hair was brown and tousled purposefully.

All at once the room darkened as a few of the candles were blown out.

Geralt wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt he couldn’t breathe. He swallowed thickly; perhaps it was all the perfume in the air. He was sensitive to that kind of stuff.

The man walked, gracefully avoiding everyone, until he stopped in front of Geralt. His lips curled up in a smile, almost catlike. He didn’t say a word as he extended a hand.

Geralt had no reason to take it. He had no reason to even stay. This had obviously been for nothing.

But he didn’t want to—leave, that is.

Geralt didn’t think about why, he never did, just acted on impulse as he took the man’s offered hand. It was dim in the ballroom but with his enhanced senses there was no missing the crooked, happy grin on the man’s face as he led him to the middle of the floor.

He had almost forgotten he wasn’t much of a dancer, but thankfully the man seemed pleased to lead.

He—in his dark, glittering clothes—moved like a professional, pulling Geralt along with him. People parted for them as they spun around the floor. Geralt knew Yennefer was probably waiting for him, confused and worried.

He should’ve cared more.

It had been so long since Geralt had just let himself enjoy a moment, and he was definitely enjoying this one, almost embarrassingly so.

He only enjoyed it more when the man pressed up against him, biting his bottom lip. His mask blocked most of his upper face but his eyes—blue and sparkling—were clear as day, even in the dimness.

Geralt thought of Jaskier for a moment and his heart ached. He promptly pushed those pesky feelings away and slid his arms around the man’s waist, tugging him impossibly closer.

He might never have Jaskier, but he could have this man, and he wanted him, surprisingly so.

About his height, thin but not too thin, pretty eyes and thick eyelashes, a mouth that seemed to only be able to smile. He was beautiful. Geralt wanted more than he had wanted anything in a long time.

Yennefer could wait for once in her life. He deserved this, if only for a night.

Geralt leaned in, slow, in case he had somehow misread the situation and the man wanted to stop him. But he didn’t; he just silently tilted his head up.

Taking that as consent, he pressed their lips together, light and gentle.

Reaching up, the man tangled his fingers in his hair and pressed closer, their bodies slotting together perfectly, like they were two pieces of a puzzle coming together—finally. He kissed him deeper, hotter, wetter. Geralt gave as good as he got, hands slipping around to the man’s arse, squeezing.

Geralt wasn’t easily mortified, and somewhat shameless, but he did have limits. He wouldn’t fuck in the middle of a masquerade—that was more Yennefer’s thing—but he would gladly do this, touch each other all over and kiss like no one was watching.

The man slotted his thigh between Geralt’s legs and he groaned against his lips, shuddering.

He was hard. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he had done anything other than jack off.

The man gently tugged on his hair as he licked into his mouth, sloppy and wet. Geralt didn’t even realize he had untied the back of his mask until it fell at their feet, floating down slowly. He stared at it for a beat, maybe two, before looking back up, intending to go right back to kissing—he surely hadn’t gotten enough yet—but the man took a step back, eyes wide in horror.

Geralt frowned, not understanding. He spoke for the first time, “What’s wrong?”

The man gestured wildly with his hands, stammering, “I–I–”, before he turned and ran for it.

Geralt blinked once before he followed him without a second thought. He ran out of the building, down the stone steps, and stopped at the bottom, catching his breath.

It was all the time Geralt needed to catch him, grabbing his arm. The moon was high in the sky, shining on them. The man looked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked gruffly. “I didn’t mean to.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. Then, silently, he removed his mask.

Geralt stared into the face of the one bard he would never be able to forget, not even after months.

“Jaskier,” he breathed and suddenly his lips tingled with the reminder of what they’d just been doing. He touched them without even thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, red as the punch. “I—I swear I had no idea it was you; I mean, I knew it looked like you but I thought—”

Geralt interrupted him, “What did you think?” he asked.

Jaskier visibly cringed, looking away and up at the moon. “I’ve been… fucking a lot of men who look like you, Geralt,” he said, throat bobbing as he swallowed audibly.

“Oh,” Geralt said then the words registered and he said again, “Oh.”

Probably not the best reply because Jaskier took a step back, hands in the air. “I—I should go. This was—this was a mistake, really. I never would’ve done any of that if I’d known—”

Geralt grabbed one of his hands. Jaskier stared blankly, mouth still partially opened, at their hands.

“But did you never tell me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. Jaskier’s eyes flickered up to his face, quiet and questioning. “You want me, right? That’s why you’ve been fucking men who remind you of me.”

Jaskier let out an almost delirious laugh. “But that—that’s never been on the table, so I was—I was trying to get it out of my system. I thought if I fucked enough big, burly men with white hair, I don’t know, I’d stop wanting it. I could go back to being your friend and we would never have to discuss this.” He took a deep breath after all that talking, shoulders slumping. “It’s certainly worked in the past.”

Geralt just stared at him, “And is it… working, I mean?”

Jaskier’s lips twitched, something between a smile and a grimace. “No,” he said. “Not even a little bit.”

He nodded, looking almost thoughtful as he stepped forward. Jaskier’s eyes flickered to his mouth and up again. “You assumed it was never on the table,” he pointed out. “You never actually asked.” Geralt felt the most nervous he had in a long time. He hoped it wasn’t showing.

A mix of complicated emotions played across Jaskier’s face before he finally said, “Geralt, you’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And why do you say that?” he asked, undeterred. He placed his hands on Jaskier’s sides; even through all the layers he could feel the heat of Jaskier’s body.

Jaskier swallowed thickly, staring bravely into his eyes as he said, “I don’t think one night with you is going to satisfy the… itch I have,” he said, speaking slowly like he was searching for the right words. “Perhaps not even two.”

Geralt squeezed his sides. “Hmm. Well, I guess we’ll just have to do it more than once.”

“More than twice?”

Geralt smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. “If that’s what it takes.”

Jaskier looked like he was going to laugh again but he bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing it. He reached up, hesitating for a split second before he cupped Geralt’s face between his hands. He stroked over the rough skin of his cheek with his thumb.

“I have a room,” he whispered, “at the local inn. It’s small, and smelly, but—”

Geralt interrupted, smiling a little wider, “Still better than fucking under the same roof as Yen.”

Jaskier grinned at him. Geralt reached up, finally, and traced his jaw with his fingertips. “Point taken.”

Nothing left to say, they surged forward at the same time and pressed their lips together, powered by years of pent up frustration.


End file.
